


Sock Full Of Batteries To The Back Of The Head

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Catharasis, Crying, Oral Sex, Other, Reader Insert, Riding, face fuck, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: You've had a rough week, and somehow, everything that Tyler says or does seems to make it worse. How to fix this?





	Sock Full Of Batteries To The Back Of The Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NBmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBmess/gifts).



You don’t want to talk about it.

You very much don’t want to talk about it.

Part of the problem is that there isn’t just one “It” to be annoyed at.

It’s… cumulative. 

Shit just keeps piling on and piling on, and it’s little things at first, but it’s enough little things that eventually you just want to pull your own hair out and scream to the heavens like something out of the weirder sort of gothic novels.

You’re just… grinding your teeth, as you carefully chop vegetables. 

You’re being careful with the knife, at least?

The vegetables aren’t offering much resistance, but then again, they’re vegetables.

Tyler comes up behind you, and he wraps his arms around your waist.

You stiffen up, involuntarily, and he nuzzles into your neck.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is rumbling through his chest, up into your back. 

“Hi,” you say, keeping your tone calm, collected. 

“How are you doing?”

“Fine,” you say.

You put the knife down at his first touch, of course.

And now guilt is washing over you - why are you so guilty?

… you’re a shitty partner.

Oh god.

You’re starting to shake, and Tyler makes an inquiring noise, resting his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling into your temple.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet. “What’s wrong?”

“Just tired,” you tell him, which is true. 

It’s… it’s more than that, obviously it’s more than that, but you have no idea what the whole… mess roiling under your breastbone even _is_ , let alone how you’d deal with it.

“Well,” says Tyler, and he kisses along your neck again, gently, “it’s okay. If you wanna talk about whatever it is.”

You sigh, leaning into him, but for once, his gentle touches across your belly are just… annoying you, not comforting you.

You shrug your shoulders, wriggling your way out of his hold, and he makes a sympathetic noise and gives you a squeeze.

You shudder, and he lets go of you.

“Sorry,” he says, and he sounds uncertain.

“Why are you sorry?”

Fuck.

You don’t have it in you to have a whole talk with him about his feelings.

Tyler has a decent amount of emotional intelligence, but sometimes helping hikm work through his emotions is just… too much.

You don’t have the patience for it.

You usually do.

You’re a jerk.

You know you’re a jerk, and the self loathing grabs you by the throat and just… squeezes.

You sigh, and you shrug him off again, as he lets go entirely, and then there’s clinkin and clanking.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll get the table set,” he says, and he sounds uncertain.

You don’t want to look at his big stupid face, you don’t want to see his big gorgeous eyes, which are gonna be concerned.

He’ll probably get that line between his eyebrows that he always got when he was worried about something. 

You want to smooth it out, and you want to bite his gorgeous fucking face.

… wow.

Your hands are trembling.

You’re beginning to shake, you realize. 

You’re shaking so hard that you knock the knife down, and then Tyler is coming over, and he’s very gently drawing you away from the counter.

“I know you’re having a lot of feelings right now,” he says, and his voice is almost obnoxiously calm.

Bastard.

“I’m having a lot of feelings,” you repeat back. 

“No feelings when there are knives. Okay?”

“... okay.”

“So I’m gonna do the knife stuff, and you can sit at the table and I’ll chop up the vegetables.”

“I should -”

“Sit down,” Tyler says, and then he’s guiding you down to sit at the table, and you’re leaning back against it.

You sigh, and then you’re… you’re crying.

Why are you crying?

It’s not even, like, elegant crying or anything.

You’re snuffling and dripping down your nose.

Tyler turns around to look at you, and his expression is… soft.

And you can’t deal with it right now.

You just can’t. 

“Can you… can you finish dinner?”

Your voice cracks embarrassingly. 

“Of course,” he says. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Can you just… leave me alone for now, please?”

You wipe your nose on the back of your hand, and it’s… gross, but so are you.”

“Of course,” he say. “I’ll be here if you need me, okay?”

“Right,” you say, and you lean yourself back into your chair, covering your face with both hands, blocking out the light, your tears and snot wet on your skin.

You’re so… tired.

Fed up.

Drained.

What do you need right now?

You want to… you want to feel something.

What do you want to feel?

You don’t know what you want to feel, but you want to feel a lot of it.

You sigh, and you keep your eyes closed, listening to the sound of Tyler fiddling around the kitchen.

He chops differently than you do - slower, more methodically

He does most things methodically.

HIs chopping is kind of shit, for all that he does it more methodically. 

It makes you feel better for it, at least.

And then you feel like a jerk for feeling satisfied that you’re better than him at something and then your head is starting to chase itself in circles, and you’re breathing carefully, slowly. 

You’re just… calm. 

You will be calm.

You will not be a jerk who takes out your horrible mood on your boyfriend, even though it’s his fucking fault for being so goddamn perfect at almost everything, except that the stuff that he’s bad at, which he’s just… cute for being bad at it in the first place.

… you’re definitely going in circles.

You’ve been staring off into the middle distance for more time than you probably should have been, and your head is starting to hurt from all the crying and the… well, tail chasing.

He puts a glass of water right next to you, and you sigh, and you take a deep drink of it, blinking back more tears, because… even when you’re being a jerk, he’s taking care of you.

How can he be so wonderful?

You rub your nose again, and you sigh.

“I’m a jerk,” you say to the world at large. 

“I think you’re _being_ a jerk,” says Tyler, “but ta doesn’t mean you are a jerk.”

Hearing him say that he thinks you’re being a jerk somehow makes it better.

… somehow.

Brains are fucking weird. 

"Does it bother you that I'm being a jerk?"

You watch his back, as he carefully scrapes the chopped up vegetables into the pan with the simmering sauce.

The muscles of his back are doing... interesting things, and you want to bite him.

... that can't be normal. 

It's a little bit embarrassing, honestly.

You're mad at him - or you're just kind of mad in his direction - and here he is, just... being so good looking. 

It's not fair. 

"You're not really being a jerk at me," says Tyler, and he's carefully pushing things around the pan.

It sizzles.

"No?"

"You seem upset," he says, "but it's not like you're insulting me or anything."

"I've had... a tough week," you say, because it's true.

"Yeah," he says, and he makes a sympathetic noise.

"I just need... I dunno. Something. Something to get me out of this funk."

"I could give you some pampering, if you'd like," he says, and he sounds just a little bit too eager. 

You make an effort not to roll your eyes, and then you're hit with another wave of guilt.

Here he is, wanting to make you feel good, and here you are, resenting him for it.

... do you resent him for it?

Or are you just really grumpy?

Maybe you should try to stop feeling like shit for the way you feel and just... feel.

Although feeling like shit for the way you feel is still feeling your feelings in the first place.

Goddamn it.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He looks over at you, his expression thoughtful. 

"I just...."

You shrug.

"Everything... irritates me. I don't know why. But I've just got all of this... anger simmering under the surface, and I feel like a real piece of work about it, because you're just so... wonderful to me, and here I am, in a pissy mood."

"There's nothing wrong with being in a pissy mood sometimes," he points out. "We all get them."

"Why can't I turn it off?"

"Maybe you need to just work it off," he says. "Sometimes, when I'm really frustrated, I do a really intense work out."

"Yeah, but you _like_ working out," you say, and yeah, you're griping again.

"Is there any other physical activity that would make you feel better?"

"I mean, there's always sex," you say, and then you laugh, because... well, of course sex makes you feel better.

Tyler is really good at it. 

Because of course he is.

... you're really in a snit, if you're mad at him for being good at _sex_.

You groan, scrub your face with both hands. 

"Do you want to have sex?"

His voice is mild, as he turns around to look at you.

You look back at him, right into his gorgeous eyes.

"Maybe... maybe I don't want to have sex," you say slowly, almost thoughtfully. "Maybe I want to fuck."

"Reading much _Fifty Shades_ , then?"

He looks amused.

You roll your eyes.

"You know, that expression was a thing before that goddamn book," you say.

"Was it?"

He's still working with the food.

"Yeah," you say. "I saw a variation of it in a webcomic I read, when I was still a teenager."

"What comic was it?"

"It was this weird furry thing about the afterlife and Hell and whatnot," you say. "It was... actually pretty weird."

"Sounds it," he says. 

"The protagonist was the grim reaper, who was a green rabbit who was mad because he didn't have a dick."

Your tone has gone reflective.

"... what?"

"Well, regradless," you say, "there was this bit. In heaven, they make love. On Earth, they have sex. In Hell, they fuck."

"What do they do in purgatory?"

"... I have no idea," you say. 

"So do you want to fuck?"

Tyler is clearly trying to sound seductive.

He's... not really succeeding.

The problem is, Tyler just looks so... nice.

He sounds nice too - he's a sweet guy, and he doesn't really have the chops to pull off the big, mean sadist thing.

So he's just coming off as a nice guy who's _trying_ to sound like some kind of edgy character.

Which is funny, in its own way.

Your mood is lifting.

"You're cute," you tell him.

"I'm trying to be a big, mean sexy type, and you're telling me I'm cute?"

"Yep."

"I take it back," Tyler says, his tone going back to teasing. "You are a jerk."

"I take it back," you say. "You're not cute."

"You can't just take away a man's cuteness," Tyler says, his tone full of mock outrage as he carefully plates up the food. 

"You're on probation," you tell him. "Probationary cuteness."

"Wow," he says, and he sets your plate in front of you.

"Just wow? Who are you, Owen Wilson?"

"I'm like, a foot taller than he is."

"No way."

"Totally."

“Okay. So I’m like a tall Owen Wilson.”

“You’ve also got dark hair. And a different face shape. And are a lot younger than he is.”

“But still!”

You snicker in spite of yourself.

“If you want me to fuck you,” he says, “I’d be up for it.”

“What about, like… rougher stuff?”

The two of you are both more comfortable with just… having sex, versus anything particularly… performative, in either direction.

He’s got a bit of a soft spot, but neither of you is particularly romantic, or really into anything too dramatically kinky.

… what would even count as “kink,” come to think of it?

“What kinda rougher stuff?”

He looks nervous, because of course he does.

He’s such a sweet dude - he’s always nervous about hurting you in any way. 

You’d find it endearing, if it wasn’t slightly exasperating.

… okay, no, _everything_ is slightly exasperating right now.

Not just slightly.

You eat your food, because you put all that effort into making it, so you might as well eat it, right?

"I don't know," you tell him. "What would you be comfortable with?"

"I don't think I'd be that comfortable with, like, hitting you, or choking you," he says. "But if you want to be manhandled, I could totally do that. It's totally doable."

You snort, and bite back the joke that you've got on the edge of your tongue.

_If that's doable, what does that make me?_

Even when you're in a bit of a snit, it seems like you've got a horrible sense of humor.

Maybe that's just one of those things that stick around.

"Right," you say. "So we could do that. If you want to do it, I mean."

"I'd be up for that," he says, and he grins. "I know you think I'm just a giant softie, but I do, in fact, have it in me to do the rougher stuff."

"I don't believe you," you tell him, and you're still chewing.

"Oh really?"

He raises an eyebrow, and his expression would be one that you would call dangerous, if you were the type to think of him as anything but... well, a giant softie. 

"Really," you say.

"Finish your food," he says, "and then... we'll see."

* * *

You finish your food.

You're honestly feeling better for it - maybe you needed to have a good cry, and to ward off a blood sugar crash.

That would make sense.

Tyler keeps looking at you sidelong, his expression thoughtful, and you're not sure what to make of that.

Well, no, okay, you do appreciate it.

How can you not appreciate being looked at... well, like that?

You lick your lips, and you smile at him, maybe with a bit more teeth than you usually show.

He smiles back.

"You done?"

"Yeah, I think so," you say.

"Good," he says, and he's just... standing up, walking around to your chair, and he's pulling your chair back and kissing you, right on the mouth.

You kiss him back, but... oh, this is rougher than the two of you usually kiss each other.

He's just... shoving his tongue into your mouth, and his hands are going to the sides of your head, his fingers in your hair, practically yanking on it.

You groan, arching into it, clinging to his shirt at the shoulders, balling the fabric up in your fists.

You shudder, and you lick your lips, and then he's sucking on your tongue, and he's still pulling on your hair, which is making you groan, shuddering, your eyes half shut.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

A wave of... some kind of feeling washes over you, and it's enough to make you go limp in your chair, shaking, clinging to him so hard.

"Please," you mumble against his lips.

"Mmm?"

He makes an inquiring noise, and you're panting against his mouth, already beginning to shake. 

"Maybe... harder, please?"

God, this is embarrassing.

There's something so fucking embarrassing about... asking him to be rough, but you can't be fucked to figure out what it is that's embarrassing you so much.

This whole situation feels vaguely embarrassing, as if you can't exactly take care of yourself. 

As if you need him to take care of you.

And the frustration is boiling up into your chest, and then it's out of your mouth, and you're leaning forward and biting the bit of his shoulder that's visible from the neck of his shirt.

He groans like he's in some kind of intense pain, his whole body on edge, his toes curling and his head thrown back.

"Fuck," he growls, and then he's just... grabbing you around the hips, and he's _lifting you out of your chair_ , which is unexpected, because... well, fuck. 

It isn't like you're that... small, that you can just be lifted like that, without a care in the world.

And he's kissing you again, as he staggers, then lands on the floor in an awkward heap, and the jolt of his ass hitting the ground is enough to make your teeth rattle, as you lean in and kiss him again, straddling him. 

He rolls the both of you over - full on rolls you over, like some kind of character in a certain kind of romantic comedy, and now he's on top of you. 

You stare up into his eyes, and he's grinning at you in spite of himself, it seems, even with the purpling bruise on his shoulder.

You make an annoyed noise, and you reach up for him, your hands in his hair, yanking on it.

He leans down to kiss you again, with his tongue and his teeth, nipping at your lips, your tongue, and then he's pulling your head back, and he's kissing along your jaw, down to the sweet spot under your ear, and along your neck,, loud, sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

He bites you, after he's shoved down the collar of your shirt enough to give him some kind of access, and you shudder, your eyes squeezing shut, your back arching.

He doesn't bite you the way you bite him - he doesn't seem to have the same amount of jaw strength that you do, which is more the pity, because... wow, that would be amazing. 

But he sucks on it, sucks hard enough that you're half convinced that he's trying to do his best vampire impression, and you're thrashing around on the floor, your hands digging into his back, twisting your shirt in your hands.

You reach down, and you grab the hem of his shirt, shoving it up and over his head, and then your nails are digging into his back as well, leaving deep scratches.

He makes a desperate noise, and then you feel his cock against your belly - his desperate, hard cock, and he's grinding against you.

How did he get so hard so fast? 

He's not usually _this_ easy to rile up.

Or maybe he likes this rough stuff more than he was willing to admit before. 

You wonder why. 

You'll have to ask him.  
And then he rolls his hips in just the right way, and you’re… you’re sobbing, because he’s biting the other side of your neck now, and you twist his hair in your hands, which makes him bite you harder.

You arch your back as you're bitten, and you wrap your legs around his hips, grinding your own hips forward, panting up at the ceiling.

You're doing weird rough sex... stuff in the kitchen.

That somehow makes this even more scandalous.

The linoleum of the kitchen floor is unyielding and uncomfortable as you squirm on top of it, your knees pressing into his sides.

And he's... kissing down your neck, along your shoulder.

He's shoved the neck of your shirt down enough that he can get to more of your shoulder, and he digs his teeth in.

You groan, a full bodied, painful sound, your heels digging in to his lower back, and he grunts against you. 

"Fuck, Tyler, please," you say, and you're... you're begging.

Oh god. 

You're actually begging.

"Please," you beg, "please, please, please, please!"

"Please what?"

He pulls back, and his eyes are dark, his lips swollen from kissing you.

From your teeth.

He looks as gorgeous as ever shirtless, and a little bit of you wants to die, because... holy fuck, he's so pretty.

He's so pretty it's not fair, and you'd be mad about it, except for the fact that you actually get to _look_ at all of that pretty, and how can you complain about it too hard?

You whine and gasp, as he sits up, and he's resting his weight on your lower body, sitting on your thighs.

It's a level of pressure you weren't sure you needed, except that the satisfaction you get from the sensation is enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

"So what is it that you want so badly?"

His tone is still mild, thoughtful. 

"Fuck my face," you say, before your brain has time to catch up with your mouth.

"Hm?"

He raises an eyebrow, looks interested.

"My face," you say. "Fuck my face."

"You want me to fuck your face."

"I have now said it at least three times, yes," you say.

"You've said it twice," he corrects. "Are you sure?"

"Totally sure," you say. "I... I want it. I want it badly."

"What do you want?"

His voice goes down, almost to a growl, and you flush.

His expression is still open and sweet and friendly.

Oh god.

He's just... like that, isn't he?

He's probably even tranquil looking, even when he's really angry.

You've never really seen him be _really_ angry.

"I want you to fuck my face," you say again.

"From this position?"

"Well," you say, "I figure if we're gonna do that, then you're gonna be, like, straddling my chest, you know?"

He snorts, and he shuffles upwards, until he's full on crouching over your chest, and his cock is hard and wet inside of his shorts.

Oh god.

He's... he's pushing his shorts down, and his cock just springs forward, practically bouncing off of his belly.

Yeah, he's hard.

He's hard, and he wants it so badly.

He wants _you_ so badly.

There's something so gratifying about that, something that you just... need, something that you want.

You want to be wanted, you want to be needed.

Even when you're in a shit mood like this, you want to be wanted.

Maybe there's something wrong with you; maybe you're just using him to fill your own emotional needs, and you're just an asshole....

"Hey," Tyler says, and his voice is sharp.

You jolt out of your daze.

"Um?"

"Where were you going?"

"What do you mean?'"

"You were miles away," he tells you. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong," you say, "is that you're not fucking my face, right this second."

"Oh my god," Tyler says, and he's actually laughing, as one of his big hands rests on the top of your head, tangling in your hair. "Are you trying to goad me into fucking your rougher by pissing me off or something? Because it won't work?"

"No?"

You flutter your eyelashes at him, like you're some kind of flirt out of a certain class of movie. 

"If you're going to be a brat about it, he says, in a no nonsense voice, "then I'm going to get up right now, and I'm going to jerk off, and when you've thought about how to not be a brat, but to actually communicate like an adult, maybe I'll fuck you exactly the way you want me to."

"Oh my god, Tyler," you say, but you're laughing.

Maybe a little uneasily, admittedly, but still. 

"So?"

"I want you... I want you to fuck my face. I want you to fuck my face roughly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, your voice rough, and then you're blushing, because... for some reason, there's something embarrassing about just stating it like that. About just saying "please fuck my face roughly."

About having to be responsible for the fact that you're going to be the one who chose this.

And then... then the tip of his cock is rubbing against your lips, and you're shuddering, your eyes half shut, as you open your mouth.

He slides it in. 

Just that simply - he slides his cock into your mouth, slides it all the way to the back of your throat, and you tilt your head back and gag around it, beginning to suck awkwardly.

There's drool going down your chin, down the sides of your face, as he just... works his hips, and he fucks you.

He fucks your face with deep, hard strokes, and he's got one hand under your head to keep it from knocking on the floor, which is a great relief, because otherwise... well, otherwise, you'd have one hell of a headache, by the time he would finish, because there is no way in hell you're going to stop otherwise.

But no - he's hunched over you, his thighs against the sides of your head, and his big hands on the back of your head, to keep it from banging into the floor with each roll of his hips.

You can't see much from this angle, but you wish you could. 

You wish you could watch his face, as he just… fucks yours.

His cock is hard and thick and hot in your mouth, down your throat.

It's a good thing you're in this awkward position, or else you'd be gagging.

As it is, it's... uncomfortable, and you're choking a bit, but he's clearly taking his pleasure in you, taking his pleasure _from_ you. 

You're barely a participant in this. 

It's practically just happening to you.

God, this is... perfect.

There's tears dripping out of your mouth - the same tears you get, whenever you deep throat him.

He's tugging on your hair gently, and he's still rolling his hips, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

"You feel so good," he says, and his voice is thick. "Fuck, you... oh god... do you want me to cum in your throat?"

He pulls out of your mouth, and his cock is wet with pre-cum and with spit, smearing across your face.

"I want you to cum in me," you say. "Wherever... wherever you want."

He smiles like a thing in the long grass, and your stomach does an odd little twitch.

"Oh yeah?"

You nod.

"Well," he says. "Well."

* * *

You don't bother with condoms.

You don't have to worry about that, what with one thing and another.

He prepares you with his fingers, just a little bit, lying underneath him, your legs spread wide, his cock grinding against your thigh.

You grind back, your own arousal obvious, leaving wet spots along his thighs. 

And then... oh god, he's... guiding his cock right between your thighs, and the wet head of it is brushing up against you, and you're throwing your head back, hard enough that there's a "clunk" when it hits the floor, which... okay, ow.

But then he's pushing into you, and oh fuck....

You should have used lube.

You should always use lube, truth be told, it's one of those things, but it's not like you can keep lube in the kitchen, and fucked if you're going to leave the kitchen for anything.

So it burns a little bit, as he pushes his cock all the way into you, slowly, as your inner muscles pull him in deeper, but you don't fucking care, because the stretch and the pull of it is _perfect_.

You're sobbing, and you're squirming, clenching around him, trying to get him deeper.

But he's bottomed out, and his forehead is pressed against yours as he pants harshly.

"Oh god," Tyler says, and his voice is rough. "Fuck. You're so... you're so tight, oh my god. You're so hot...."

"I like to think I'm pretty attractive," you say, and you smirk. 

"Oh my god," says Tyler, and he groans, and then he... pulls out of you?!

No.

No, that's not fair, he needs to put his cock back there... immediately, oh god, yes....

But Tyler is lying flat on his back, and he's giggling to himself, and you're not sure if you're annoyed at him for that, or endeared.

But you don't want to wait for him to come back and put his cock back into you, so you just... straddle him.

You straddle him, and you line his cock up with your entrance, and you slide down onto it.

Tyler makes a noise - it sounds almost like a muffled bellow, and he grinds his hips up and into you.

He fucks up and into you, and his hands are on your hips, probably hard enough that you're going to end up with bruises.

Fuck.

Yes, you want bruises.

You want to be going about your day to day life, when you can reach down under your shirt and press your hips, to feel the little jolt of pain from that.

Fuck....

You groan, and you clench around him, and then your hand is going between your legs, and you're touching yourself, touching yourself just the right way to make your inner muscles squeeze around him.

He makes a desperate, guttural noise, and he rolls his hips forward, so that he's fully seated in you, but he's still fucking you - he's full on _bouncing_ you on his cock, as you squeeze him and you rub yourself towards orgasm.

"Are you gonna cum on my cock?"

His voice breaks at "cum," and you giggle a bit in spite of yourself.

Even when they're trying to have rough, kinky sex, he's still Tyler.

There's something so... endearing about that.

Something that makes you so happy, as the anxiety and jealousy and general unhappiness inside of you starts to break apart, like a piece of bread dropped in water. 

You groan and squeeze him, as you begin to bear down. 

You're going to cum.

You're going to cum on him, and he can tell - he can probably recognize the look on your face.

"You're gonna cum on my cock," he says, and his voice cracks again. "You're gonna cum on my cock, aren't you? Cum on my cock, c'mon, do it... fucking do it, cum on my cock, do it, do it, fuck... I want to feel you cum around my cock, I want you to make me so much messier, do it... fuck!"

Oh... fuck....

His goading is sending you there, you're almost there...

And then his hands on your hips squeeze that much harder, and you're squeezing his cock in you, squeezing his ribs with your knees as you cum.

You cum and cum - you leave a wet, slimy mess on his belly, and you're still shaking as he holds on to your hips, uses them as leverage as he just... fucks you. 

He fucks you until he cums in you, and oh, that's it's own type of satisfying - it's hot and wet, and it's going to be dripping out of you. 

His cock is still throbbing, still swollen and giving little twitches as it gets more cum out, and you shudder, licking your lips, looking down at his red, sweaty face.

He's looking up at you with an expression that's just so... sweet, and you can't... you don't know if you can deal with this.

A wave of feelings crash over you, and now you're crying.

You're crying again, and he's reaching up for you, and wrapping his arms around you, making soothing noises. 

“Hey,” he says, and his cock slides out of you, as you cry into his chest, and he rocks you, rubs your back. “It’s okay. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

You sigh, and you snuffle, rubbing your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I loved it. I think I just… had a lot of feelings all at once. They just kinda… hit me.”

“Sock full of batteries to the back of the neck?”

You giggle a bit at the description, but you nod.

“Something like that.”

“Well,” he says, and he cups your cheek, thumbing your cheekbone, “it’s okay. You can have feelings. Even if they’re ugly ones. Okay?”

“... okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my Tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com! 
> 
> Shoot me an ask or send me a message, and we can go from there!


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